


Our Love is Warm

by TheAuthorAgain



Series: Short Stucky Fics [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Stucky - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Coming of Age, Explicit Language, Fluff, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mostly Canon Compliant, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27993741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAuthorAgain/pseuds/TheAuthorAgain
Summary: In a world where love is warmth and death is an icy curse, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes share a bond they don't dare to keep anywhere but dark rooms. However, many truths will come to light upon the emergence of a new generation they each want nothing more than to navigate together.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Short Stucky Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2093415
Comments: 15
Kudos: 29





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> If you did not read the tags, this story contains strong language and homophobia. These things are not included with the intent of upsetting anyone, they are used tastefully to further the plot in a more complex way. Please reach out if you have a specific trigger that you want me to make sure is not in this story, something that I wouldn't know to include a warning for. Stay safe and enjoy Our Love is Warm!

In many ways, James was like the sun to Steve.

He was optimistic, a ray of joy shining through the darkness of the Great Depression and the Great War. New York in the thirties was not particularly forgiving, yet Bucky held within himself an innate love of life that served him well over the years. Served Steve well.

He was handsome, a charismatic and well dressed young man who made all the ladies swoon. And he knew it, too. Sometimes his cocky attitude was scalding, and Steve couldn't even come near him for fear of being burned. But Bucky never minded dimming his light to let Steve closer. For he wasn't dimming himself, not really-simply replacing a summer solstice heat with a sunset over the mountains. Both were beautiful, but Steve could only handle one of them.

And, of course, there was one real reason that Bucky was Steve Rogers' sun. The warmth. It was hardly noticeable, but ever since the day Steve met his best friend it always seemed a little bit colder when they weren't together. Nothing a sweater or a blanket couldn't fix, not unless Bucky was visiting Romania with his family. Those long days were frigid, inexplicably and inescapably.

Steve never brought this curious phenomenon up. Why would he? The implications it may have had were ridiculous, nothing a growing young man such as himself should be bothering with. After all, a man of true merit doesn't fiddle with such nonsense as the supernatural or fantastic, he busies his mind with academics and women. Not that Steve was ever particularly interested in either.

No, that wasn't true. He liked school enough, though not as much as Bucky. And when he saw a dame wearing dark hair and a pretty smile, he couldn't help but turn his head to take a second look. But he never studied extra, or flirted like James did. He had other things to occupy his time.

The only thing he really liked to spend his time doing was Bucky. That is, spending time with Bucky. Of course. The two were thick as thieves, the neighborhood troublemakers and the candy store shoplifters. They only committed that last one because they heard the owner of the store was beating his wife. And it sure did seem like the single mother down the street could use a sweet or two to give to her kids.

Steve was the one to initiate these daring heists, though you wouldn't expect it of him upon first glance. He was scrawny, hardly more than skin and bones. Next to his tall friend with the perpetual smirk, Steve seemed like nothing more than the Irish schoolboy who goes to church every Sunday and says his prayers before bed. But of course, he was anything but that.

He was a delinquent, a vigilante. Sarah Rogers always said that her son had come out of the womb kicking, fighting for what was right. And for the most part, this was true. From the moment he could talk, Steve was telling people off. From the moment he could run, he was picking fights.

This stressed Bucky to no end. He hated seeing his friend covered in blood and bruises and that ridiculous smile that he tried to use to excuse his actions. Bucky saw right through it, saw the pain his friend hid from him and did his best to heal it. Yet Steve kept picking fights, kept hollering at every man who was hollering at a woman. Bucky supported him unconditionally. But he sure did wish Steve would choose a safer route through life.

You see, Steve wasn't the only one who saw his best friend as the sun. When most people looked at Steve, the only sunshine they would find was the golden tint of his hair. But to Bucky? Every part of the boy shone with a celestial light, every single facet of his being held starshine and sunbeams. And warmth.

Those trips to Romania weren't only difficult for Steve. Bucky would huddle under countless blankets, wonder why in the world he couldn't seem to get warm no matter how he tried. And he would come home to his Stevie, his sunshine, and feel the unappreciated privledge of heat for the first time in weeks. Their reunion was more than joy, it was relief. It was necessary.

The sun provides life to Earth, Steve and Bucky provided life to one another. Though it made no sense whatsoever, they needed each other like they needed air. Everyone knows what happens when you take away someone's air-they choked.

The Barnes and Rogers rascals never thought they would have to go without each other. And no one really knew what a separation like that does to a person.

Steve and Bucky didn't want to know what a separation like that does to a person.

But you don't always get what you want.


	2. He Was My Sunshine

It was New Years, and Steve was excited.

Every year, he and Bucky snuck out of the house to go see the ball drop. Every year, they got in massive trouble for it. Every year, neither of them cared one bit.

New Years was probably Steve's favorite holiday, if only for this tradition he shared with his best friend. He was fifteen now, practically a man. He didn't know why his Ma didn't just let him go with Bucky, save them the trouble of sneaking out, but he figured the whole rebelliousness of it was what made it fun. 

Steve looked himself in the mirror once more before deciding that he looked good enough. He rushed out into the living room of the tiny apartment he shared with his Ma, where she waited in her very best dress. Which wasn't very nice, in all honesty. They made it by, in any case, which was more than other people in the city could say.

"Steve, you are not sneaking out again this year. I mean it," Sarah said as they walked down excited streets to the flat occupied by the Barnes family. She held Steve tightly by the upper arm, much to his embarrassment, and led him along.

"I don't know why you don't just let us go!" Steve protested, trying in vain to release his arm from the death grip it was currently caught in before giving up. "I mean, Bucky's sixteen! And he has a job."

"Which means what, exactly? That he's mature? That he's going to keep my danger magnet of a son away from drunken partiers and sleazy back alleys? I don't want to stitch up another cut this year, Steve, I don't want to wait up all night for you to come home and then see you stagger in the front door covered in blood. For the last time, Steve, save Times Square for when you're old enough to be there safely."

Okay, so maybe Steve tended to sometimes (every time) run into a drunk guy who wanted to see him bleed. But otherwise, New Years was great! And Bucky did keep him out of most trouble, pulled him by the back of his shirt out of range of empty beer bottles and clumsy fists. There was just a lot of trouble out there, too much for one James Barnes to protect him from. But isn't part of life the thrill of taking risks and evading danger?

Steve protested no further, however, silently resigning himself to the fact that he would just have to sneak out. Hopefully he wouldn't be grounded 'til February like last New Year's. Not that he abided by his mother's rules at all, but still.

Oh, but Steve was a good kid. Really, he was. He just...well, he liked to have fun. Forge his own path. And that path was a righteous one, though it was paved with bar fights and hateful words. It was a path his father would be proud of were he still alive.

They arrived at the Barnes residence with huge smiles, knocked on the door which opened not a moment after they had announced their presence. Steve raced inside the moment he could, rushing to the kitchen to say hello to the family.

"Hey, Mrs. Barnes!" he called out as he rushed in. His bony little arms were wrapped around the soft woman's waist, and she squeezed him tight before pushing him away so she could open the oven.

"Good to see you, darling. Bucky's upstairs with the girls."

Steve slowed his pace, simply moving at a brisk walk. He smiled a hello to Mr. Barnes, who gave a crisp nod in return. Steve could hear the sounds of his mother greeting Winifred as he bounded up the stairs, making sure to avoid the creaky step before he reached the top. He had no concern for making noise, but that step was unlucky.

Barbara, the youngest of the Barnes clan, walked out of the bedroom she shared with her sister wearing a lovely red dress. "Stevie!" she cried out, jumping into the boy's arms. He did his best to catch her, though the girl was embarrassingly only a little lighter than he was.

"Hey, hey, easy," Steve heard a familiar voice drawl out. He grinned as Bucky pried the girl off of him, giving a tight squeeze around his friend's shoulders before plopping Barbara back onto the ground. "I thought you and your Ma weren't coming until six?"

"It's six thirty, Buck, we were going to come at seven but then your Dad asked if we could come a little earlier because it looked like dinner was going to be done ahead of schedule."

"Oh." Steve smirked at his friend's confused glance. Though James was a whiz with numbers and a menace in the boxing ring, give him a timetable and he'd manage to screw up every single detail right before your eyes. This didn't seem to Bucky, however, as he simply shrugged and started off towards the stairs. "Abagail, c'mon! The Rogers' are here!"

Bucky's other sister came running out, desperately trying to finish a paragraph of her book in the process. This turned out to be detrimental to her, as she rammed into the doorframe in her hurry. "Shi-"

"Language!" Bucky called out angrily. Steve heard this and looked at his friend in wonder. "I'm sorry, Bucky, did you just tell Abagail to watch her language?"

"Yeah, yeah. Can it, punk."

Their dinner was cheerful, a pot roast Mrs. Barnes had spent the better part of the day preparing. It was delicious, per usual, and Steve did his best to pace himself as he ate the best meal he had had since last New Year's. Bucky noticed his friend's ravenous hunger, of course, and hooked his ankle around Steve's as a show of acknowledgement and support.

The Barnes were fairly well off. The Rogers were not. This was not something that hampered Steve and Bucky's friendship, but in moments like these, it certainly was noticeable. Steve and Sarah refused to take any charity, and the Barnes' respected that. However, holidays were an easy way for George and Winifred to spoil their dear friend and her son.

Once the meal was finished, everyone began standing up and thanking Mrs. Barnes for the wonderful food. "Oh, it's nothing. Sarah and I will get started on these dishes-boys, you're excused. Steve, Bucky, you can go upstairs, but don't even think about-!"

"Of course not, Mom," Bucky said smoothly, "We're real grown up, now. We wouldn't dare. 'Sides, what even is there in Times Square? Some big ol' ball and some confetti? We've seen it enough times."

She seemed mollified, and Bucky managed to hide his smirk from her as he turned to walk up the stairs to his room with Steve.

"Wow, Buck, that was real good. Even I believed you for a second," Steve snickered.

Bucky shoved him as they plopped onto his bed. "Aw, shuddup. What time do you want to leave, ten? Eleven?"

"How bout ten thirty?"

"Sounds like a plan."

They spent their wait playing cards and talking. Bucky went on and on about Marcie, the girl he was swooning over nowadays. Steve didn't like her, she was rude. I mean, who smiles all the time? That's fake, gotta be. And all those nice comments she made? Surely they were sarcastic jabs, little ways to make everyone else feel small.

They certainly made Steve feel small.

He said nothing to Bucky, though, just let his friend rhapsodize about the curl of her hair and the curve of her cheeks. It was easy to forget this hot hatred when he was surrounded by the warm joy that was Bucky. It was easy to forget anything other than him.

George came knocking several times as the hours passed, sternly checking to see that the boys still innocently sat on the white bedspread. As their time of escape approached, Steve became more and more excited. He felt he would never outgrow this fluttering nervousness that came with breaking the rules.

Finally, it was time. Bucky broke the lock on his window with ease, and stepped out into the cool night air. Being on the second floor, this flight was difficult. James went first, climbing down the brick wall and jumping down onto the ground when it was close enough. And then...Steve. Though he wasn't afraid of heights like Bucky, he wasn't a fan of the drop. But he knew Bucky would catch him, he always had and he always would. So Steve leapt into his adventure, sped down into Bucky's waiting arms. He was set down, and then they were free.

The boys were a giggling mess as they made their way to Times Square, poking fun at one another and pointing out interesting sights. Bucky, looking at a bright flag someone had hung up instead of the path he walked, was sent sprawling to the ground. "Shit!" he exclaimed, shaking his hands that were lightly scraped from their collision with the ground.

"Language," Steve said slyly, after making sure his friend was alright. Bucky got to his feet with a groan, and sent Steve a death glare as he brushed himself off.

"Watch it, punk. I'm about a foot taller than you and I'm not afraid to punch a kid."

They ended up making it just in time for the ball to drop, packing into the cheering crowd only a few minutes before midnight. "You ready?" Steve asked, an involuntary smile lighting his face.

"Definitely." The grin was mirrored on Bucky's face, both their rosy cheeks contorting in their expressions of glee.

They shouted with everyone else as the moment approached, feeling the sound inside their chests in its volume.

"Ten!"

Steve saw a man in a shocking red coat in the crowd.

"Nine!"

The man shouted out with everyone else.

"Eight!"

Steve looked to Bucky.

"Seven!"

Bucky looked back at him, a that glorious smile still lighting up his face.

"Six!"

Steve looked forward again.

"Five!"

Steve saw the man in the red coat lift his arms in a ridiculous gesture reserved for drunks and Jesus Christ.

"Four!"

Steve watched as the man looked around the crowd.

"Three!"

Steve still shouted with everyone else, but felt uneasy as the man staggered forward with an unknown purpose.

"Two!"

Steve watched the man come across a young woman all by her lonesome.

"One!"

Steve stopped shouting, glaring instead as the man in the red coat grabbed the unprepared woman roughly.

"Happy New Year!"

Steve charged forward as the man smashed his face into hers, holding her tightly as he messily molested her in the middle of the cheering and oblivious crowd. Oblivious but for one five foot four firecracker unwilling to let such a disgusting man go without punishment.

"Steve, what the fuck."

"Language," Steve muttered half heartedly. It clearly wasn't funny to Bucky, however, who was dabbing at the cuts the man's rings had made on Steve's face. "Aw, c'mon, Buck, this is fine. Happens all the time."

"Yeah, well, it shouldn't."

"Bucky, he was grabbing her! Kissing her without her permission!" Steve whined, desperate to get his friend not to be mad at him. This was the kind of trouble Steve never liked to be in.

Bucky sighed and paused in his first aid administration, looking at Steve with a weary disappointment. "I know, and that was wrong. But you can't solve every problem in the world, no matter how hard you try. And the harder you try, the more you get hurt. Now I'm not saying you shouldn't fight injustice-!" he defended upon Steve's outraged look, "but you gotta learn to pick your battles."

Steve considered these words for a moment, though he was a little distracted by how close his face was to Bucky's. Wait, what? Bucky continued treating Steve's wounds, oblivious to his friend's queer little thought.

And because their faces were so close together, Steve saw the concern in James'. The sadness. And he felt bad, he really did. "I'm sorry I worried you, Bucky. I really didn't mean to."

"I know. I know you didn't. I just..." Bucky paused, unreadable emotion crossing his face. "I just care about you. I care about you a lot, Steve, and I don't-I just want you to be safe. I know fighting's part of your DNA, I know it is! - but I just wish you could fight someone your own size. Maybe come out of it a winner."

"I'll do my best to find an eight year old who wants to be beaten up by Steve Rogers."

Steve cracked a grin, though it pulled at the cuts on his lips, and Bucky snorted. "Punk."

"Jerk."


	3. My Only Sunshine

Steve sat at his mother's bedside, feeling for the first time in his life that pain Sarah did every time her little boy was sick. They had done everything they could-and with the financial support from the Barnes family, all they could do was quite a bit. But with a late diagnosis of tuberculosis for a woman who naturally had a weak immune system, there simply wasn't much hope.

Bucky stopped by as often as he could, giving his best friend a kind face and comfort to ease his worry and sadness. They both knew it was only a matter of time before she passed, yet Bucky still spoke as though Sarah would be climbing mountains any day now, just you wait and see. It was bittersweet to Steve-he appreciated the hope Bucky always shone with, but he also was well aware of the fact that he would be an orphan within weeks at best.

So he sat at his mother's bedside. It was the only place you could find Steve Rogers in those cold November days, unless Bucky had pulled him away to eat or sleep or shower. And Steve now understood the pain of his mother, of Bucky. Watching someone be eaten alive by illness was horrifying, the worst thing he had ever experienced. And he had experienced quite a few things in his seventeen years of life.

One question preyed on Steve's mind on those last days. A question he would usually take to Bucky, but this time he couldn't. No, because this time his question was about Bucky. And before his mother inevitably passed, he wanted to hear her answer.

You can certainly imagine what this query was, and why Steve was so hesitant to voice it. His mother was a Catholic, born and raised, who had brought him up with the same principles. Steve believed in a loving God, a tolerant one, that the priests never seemed to mention. They spoke of hellfire and sin, damnation and fear. Steve believed in mercy, salvation. Love.

He wasn't sure which version of God his mother preferred.

So he sat on this question until the very last moment he could. Until he was seated at his mother's bedside, fearing that if he didn't speak now, he may never have the chance. A crazed fear struck his heart, chasing it through rapid palpitations. 

Even on her deathbed, however, Sarah knew when her son was scared. "Steve, darling, what's wrong?" she croaked out, a slender hand taking his with a weak squeeze.

"Ma..." Speak now, or forever hold your peace. "Ma, what do you think of Bucky?"

"Of Bucky?"

"Yeah..."

Steve's anxiety was through the roof, not eased even when Sarah sighed and laughed gently. "Oh, my Steven Grant. Honey, it's okay. You have a difficult path ahead of you, but know that I will always love you. The love you feel for that boy is love, and I know that anyone who says otherwise will have to deal with my strong son's rage. And for good reason. Steve-" Her kind words were cut off by a hacking cough. Steve wiped away the tears of relief on his face and grabbed her a handkerchief.

"Thank you," Steve said, voice warbling in emotion.

Her health permitted no more words to be said, but their bond needed none to understand.

Sarah Rogers passed away three days later. She was alone, having forced Steve out of the room when she felt herself begin to choke. Til the bitter end, Sarah cared for others more than herself. 

Steve cried. He felt as though he would never stop hurting over the pain of this loss, this aching sadness enveloping his life. And Bucky, oblivious to what his best friend felt for him, held the younger through it all in casual comfort.

"Buck?" Steve asked as the sun kissed the horizon on the day of her funeral, "Will you stay tonight?"

And what words were there to say but yes?

Steve and Bucky had shared a bed before, plenty of times. However, they hadn't really been this close since they were children. Over the years, they grew apart physically while they grew closer emotionally. Little did the boys know that these two phenomenon were strongly related.

Neither slept much that night, simply pretended to be asleep for the other's benefit. Steve cuddled into his best friend's warmth, mind buzzing with those words his mother had said just days before she passed. "The love you feel for that boy is love, and I know that anyone who says otherwise will have to deal with my strong son's rage."

But while Sarah may have accepted these sinful feelings festering in Steve's heart, he knew that Bucky never would. No, his friend spent many nights with women, spoke to Steve about their soft skin and beautiful faces. Steve had tried to hide his lingering glances for years, knowing that the unveiling of these feelings would make him lose the only person on this earth left who gave a damn about him.

So the night passed in silence, in closed eyes and forced shallow breathing. Steve tried to contain the joy their intimacy brought him, the fluttering of his heart spurred by Bucky's body pressed against his. Because they were friends, and they would never be anything but that. His heart, however, said otherwise as he drifted into sleep in the early hours of the morning.

Steve groaned as he woke, looking over at Bucky who still lay beside him. The handsome man's face crinkled into a grin, and Steve had to contain his glee at the beautiful sight. But then, in a shocking turn of events, that grin came closer. And closer. Until those plump lips were pressed against his.

Steve kept his eyes open in shock, so he saw Bucky pull back and look at him with fear. "Steve, I'm sorry, I-" His words were cut off by Steve crashing their faces together, the heat always found in Bucky's presence spreading throughout his entire body. He desperately pulled Bucky's form closer to him, not a millimeter of space between their bodies which were quickly becoming awakened by this violent kiss.

He moaned into Bucky's mouth, allowing a tongue to slip into his. With Steve's lack of experience, the best he could do was hold the man tightly and allow himself to fall into the sensation. Which he did.

Bucky's mouth traveled away from Steve's lips to his cheek, his jaw, his neck. He began gently nipping at the skin there, eliciting a shiver from Steve...who let out a guttural "Bucky!"...who felt the heat on his skin lift up a very particular part of his body...

Who then woke up for real.

Steve felt a hot flush coat his face as he realized that he had been in the midst of having a sex dream about his best friend...while said best friend was cuddled up in bed with him to help comfort him after his mom's death. Nice going, Rogers, that's not fucked up at all.

He prayed that Bucky was still asleep, had slept through all of that. But the breathing he heard from his friend indicated that Steve wasn't lucky this time around.

He wasn't sure what to do. Did he play dumb? Pretend that didn't happen? Steve couldn't make up his mind, but he didn't have to-Bucky chose for him. "Nice dream?" he asked in an approximation of his usual cocky tone, but it sounded strained.

"Uh..." Fuck!

"I, um...I heard my name?" They were still lying very close to each other, which made Steve realize-no. No, definitely not, Steve definitely didn't feel a boner on his back. No. Because while Sarah Rogers might approve of the feelings he had for James Barnes, those feelings definitely weren't returned.

Steve didn't know what to say, what to do. He felt tears brim, realizing swiftly that he was about to lose his lifelong best friend right after losing his mom. He scrunched his face, trying to hold in his grief, but a few tears escaped anyways.

"Steve...?" He pulled away from Bucky's soft tone, in an attempt to escape the embarrassment and sadness of this situation. "Steve." Bucky's voice turned definitive really quick, and he reached a hand out to stop his younger friend from leaving.

Steve let out a shaking breath and tried to keep moving, but Bucky's strong arms stopped him. "Buck, c'mon, lemme go!"

"Nope, Steve, let's talk a little bit. Okay?"

"No, Bucky, I know what you're gonna say and I don't want to hear it!"

"What am I gonna say, Steve? If you know me so well, why don't you tell me?" Steve stopped struggling for a moment and turned slowly, looking at Bucky's unreadable face. "Come on, tell me. I honestly want to hear what you're thinking right now."

Steve sighed deeply and looked down, willing to sit facing Bucky while he said this but not willing to watch Bucky's expression. "You're gonna tell me that you care about me, but not in that way. Never in that way. And I've fucked up everything because you're never gonna be friends with me when I lo-when I feel things for you."

"You're right."

The tears fell a little faster, and Steve nodded. But then Bucky took both of his hands and gave them a gentle squeeze. In his confusion, Steve looked up and saw a small smile that seemed to contain all of the joy in the world in it's gentle grace.

"You're right, Steve. I would never only be friends with you when I knew I could be more. Jesus, I don't know how long I've wanted you. Wanted to hold you tight, dance with you, kiss you. Stevie, you're my everything."

Overwhelmed by this declaration, Steve could think of only one thing to say. "Stevie? You've never called me that before."

"Not out loud, at least." They just looked at each other for a moment, and Steve felt a smile roll across his face as he realized that what he had dreamed about for years was finally happening. "May I kiss you?" Bucky asked politely, though a look in his eyes suggested that he wanted to do much more than that.

Steve, as a response, leaned forward and married their lips in a sweet caress. He pulled away slowly, eyes still closed, and opened them to see Bucky's beautiful face. "You may."

They bought the apartment a few weeks later. Steve had graduated high school early, and Bucky had never finished it, choosing to enter the workforce at sixteen instead. With their pooled funds, they were able to get a tiny little place near the docks where Bucky worked.

And it was good. Every morning, Steve woke up next to someone he loved. Every night, he cuddled against a warm body and slept peacefully. The first few months were hard, seeing as Steve still mourned the loss of his mother. But as time went on, he healed and became a much stronger person than he had ever been.

The first Christmas without her was a difficult one. Bucky woke him up at dawn, just like Barbara and Abagail used to do whenever Steve stayed over at their house on Christmas Eve. "Aw, c'mon, Buck! Can I please sleep in?"

"Nope!" Bucky said cheerfully, already dressed and ready for the day, "We're going for a walk."

"At four thirty in the morning?"

"At four thirty in the morning."

There's a certain magic to the witching hour, where everyone you meet is awake for unknown purposes they're too exhausted to share. Bucky held Steve's hand in a bold move, Steve allowing it because most people were asleep at this early hour.

They made it back home by the time most people were waking up. Once the door was safely shut, Bucky pressed his chapped lips against Steve's.

"Sorry to wake you so early, Stevie, but-"

Steve placed a finger against his Bucky's lips with a smile. "No explanations needed, that was wonderful. Thank you. I don't want to spend the day grieving, I want to spend it with you."

"Well, you can watch me make you waffles, then."

So Steve hoisted himself onto their kitchen counter as Bucky cooked away, laughing about little things and speaking softly. They couldn't afford presents, nothing more than drawings and kind words, but they didn't need physical things for this day to feel right. 

As the New Year was welcomed by another Times Square celebration, Steve realized that he had never been happier. He had Bucky, he had a home...and what more could he want? More and more time passed in a joyful daze, winter giving way to spring giving way to a hot and sticky summer.

Steve's birthday rolled around, the day he shared with America. Bucky took him to a parade, pointing out the soldiers marching. "Wow, Steve, you gotta have guts to be in the front lines. I'd never be able to do that, I hate fightin' too much."

The blonde's smile faded when he remembered his failed enlistment Bucky didn't know about yet.

That night, they put on the radio and swayed gently in their tiny living space. "Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again..." Bucky sang gently, his voice angelic compared to Steve's tuneless baritone.

"You're doin' it wrong," Steve responded softly, "The song says to kiss me, not sing to me! Although I could listen to your voice all day."

Bucky chuckled. "So demanding, Stevie." He obliged, however, cupping his lover's face at the next chorus and continuing to sway with him as they kissed. They pulled apart as the song ended, foreheads pressed together. Bucky closed his eyes and sighed contently. "I love you so much."

Steve started, unsure of what he had just heard. But the nervous look on Bucky's face confirmed the words. A smile slowly spread across Steve's face, and he pulled Bucky close.

"I love you, too."

Love can't stop a draft letter, though.


	4. He Made Me Happy

"Steve-"

"No! You can't tell me to be okay with this, because this is not okay in any way shape or form! I can't-"

"Steve."

"Don't you 'Steve' me, I'm not being ridiculous here. Okay? This is fucking-"

"Steven Grant Rogers, listen to me right now." Bucky caught his lover's arms and held him back from continuing his pacing. Steve's fury still shone on his face, covered in tears that reflected the dim light in their apartment.

"Steve, you cover up sadness with anger. I know this about you. So the fact that me getting a draft letter has sent you into a spiral of rage only tells me that you're devastated and scared. And honestly, Steve, I am too. So let's just calm down, and talk about this. Can you do that?"

Steve's face fell, both happy and sad that James had seen right through his anger. He nodded dumbly, and let Bucky pull him down to sit on their couch. "I don't want you to go," he said hoarsely, after a beat of silence. "I don't want you to leave me."

"I don't want to go. I don't want to leave. But...but I have to." Despite his best efforts, tears fell from Bucky's eyes. Steve's heart panged at the sight and he wiped them away, pulling the brunette's head to his chest and holding his lover in a gentle embrace.

"I know, darling, I know. I know." Bucky cried harder at Steve's gentle comforts, as Steve tried to contain the tears welling at his own grief. "It's okay, it'll be okay. We'll be okay."

Just a few weeks later, the fated day came. Bucky had a few errands to run in the afternoon, so Steve decided to distract himself by going to see a cartoon. And he ended up being very distracted by the man yelling at the screen.

Steve thought of his own soldier, and anger filled him. "Hey, you wanna shut up?" He snarled. The man stood, and...he was a lot taller than Steve thought. Okay.

They went outside, where Steve was pummeled in an alley. He lifted a trash can lid to try and defend himself, only to be hit again. And then, of course, Bucky came along. Like always. Bucky always joked that he had a sixth sense, one that let him know when Steve was in danger. Steve figured his friend always just checked the alleys when he passed by to see if a familiar blonde was being assaulted in his attempts to be noble.

"I had him on the ropes," Steve said, wiping away blood from his nose.

Bucky simply smiled and shook his head. "I'm sure you did, Stevie. But I sure hoped our last day together wouldn't have any broken noses involved."

"He didn't break my nose, he just gave me a nosebleed."

"Whatever you say, punk. Let's get back home, yeah?"

So they walked, not as close to each other as they wanted to be but still too close by most people's standards. They got closer once the apartment door was locked behind them, however, basking in the warmth their union brought them as Bucky put his arms around Steve and carried him to the bathroom.

"Aw, c'mon, it's not that bad-"

"Hush, now." Bucky grabbed some gauze from their medicine cabinet, and looked back and Steve to find him smirking.

"Make me."

Bucky bit his lip before moving in, capturing Steve's in a soft kiss. Steve smiled as they pulled apart, though it pulled at the cut on his lip. "You drive me crazy, you know that? Jesus, if I have to pull you outta one more alley-" Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve, who stuck his tongue out.

"You like being the knight in shining armor, just admit it."

"I will if you admit that you like being saved."

Steve's cheeks reddened and he stuttered, "Well, that's not-"

"Stevie, honey, you're fine," Bucky laughed, pulling the shorter man into a loose hug. His embrace tightened when his lips traveled to Steve's ear, however, and roughly whispered, "You're better than fine, honestly. The look you give me when I save your ass...God." Steve shivered a little at the raspy voice, and Bucky smirked.

"Makes me wanna do things to you," Bucky continued, breath tickling Steve's ear, "Makes me want you to yell my name like you do when the neighbors are out and we can be as loud as we want to. Makes me want you, Steve."

Steve gasped as Bucky's mouth touched his ear, and he grabbed the man's back in shock. That mouth traveled to his neck, where it bestowed a few lingering kisses before sucking a little. "Buck, I dunno if you should be leavin' any marks..." Steve said airily, though he wanted Bucky to cover him in bruises and marks from head to toe.

Bucky simply chuckled darkly and continued. "I'll stop if you want me to, doll, but I gotta leave you somethin' to remember me by."

Well, no arguing with that.

That night there was some science convention that Bucky wanted to go to. Steve wasn't exceptionally interested, especially not in the girls Bucky brought along to avoid suspicion, but he knew he had to suck it up. Tonight wasn't for him, not really. Although he wished that he could be the one going off to war instead.

Steve stayed as close as he could to Bucky, soaking in the warmth he felt whenever they were together. The girls were shrill, and their breathy voices grated on Steve's nerves. Not for the first time, he wished that he could just go somewhere with Bucky without judgement, without fear. But that wasn't how the world worked, and Steve knew it all too well.

Steve saw Bucky's face light up as the car hovered onstage, and the sight made him happy. But then he saw the recruitment center, and he was pulled away by his need to join Bucky in battle.

He wanted to go enlist again...although he knew that was a terrible idea and he would likely go to jail for it...but then Bucky caught up with him. "Come on. You're kind of missing the point of a double date. We're taking the girls dancing." he said, that beautiful voice slightly strained. Steve knew he should go along, but the grief that accompanied Bucky's departure made him defiant.

"You go ahead. I'll catch up with you."

Bucky looked at him knowingly, and Steve forced himself to hold the older man's gaze. "You're really gonna do this again?"

"Well, it's fair. I'm gonna try my luck." Steve tried to sound jovial, but the irritation in Bucky's pacifistic face made him falter a little.

"As who? Steve from Ohio? They'll catch you. Or worse, they'll actually take you!"

"Look, I know you don't think I can do this..." Steve waited for Bucky to contradict him, validate his worth while stressing his need to be safe.

"This isn't a back alley, Steve, it's war!"

Steve was taken aback by the angry response, and he returned the tone. "I know it's a war. You don't have to tell me."

"Why are you so keen to fight? There are so many important jobs."

"What am I gonna do? Collect scrap metal-"

"-yes!-"

"-in my little red wagon?"

"Why not?" 

Steve looked at James with disbelief. "I'm not gonna sit in a factory, Bucky-"

"-I don't-"

"Bucky, come on! There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That's what you don't understand. This isn't about me."

Bucky looked sad as he said, "Right. Because you've got nothing to prove."

"Hey, Sarge, are we going dancing?" one of the girls called out. Steve suddenly felt bad for fighting with his, uh, friend, right before he was set to leave.

James seemed to reflect the feeling. "Yes, we are!" he yelled back, before looking to Steve with that certain little gleam in his eye. "Don't do anything stupid until I get back."

"How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."

Bucky contained the flicker of intense loving sadness on his face before stepping forward to embrace Steve. "You're a punk."

"Jerk. Be careful."

Their hug was short, as it had to be in this public place, but Steve was happy that they had a proper goodbye earlier. He felt a whisper of a kiss grace his neck before Bucky pulled away. "Don't win the war 'til I get there!" he said playfully, trying to cover up the sadness overtaking him. James saluted...and then the warmth left with him.

\- - - - - - -

Steve stared at his accepted enlistment form. God, Bucky would be furious, he thought, then shivered. He pulled a blanket tighter around him and mentally prepared himself for what was to come.

Training was brutal, Agent Carter being the only bright spot in a sea of dusty grounds and cruel men. She was intelligent, remarkably so, and she had an internal fire that burned bright enough to match Steve's. He couldn't contain a giggle when he saw her punch one of his fellow soldiers in the face, amused by the vindication of the action.

But the cold was real, a sensation Steve had forgotten after such a long time spent near Bucky. Each night, he shivered himself to sleep, endless scratchy blankets doing nothing to help him stay warm. The other soldiers mocked him, claimed that "little Stevie would hide under a blanket when the Nazis came", but he ignored their taunts. They were playground insults. This was a war, much more important than any words thrown his way.

And then, Dr. Erskine brought him a bottle of schnapps. And news. News that Steve would be injected with a serum, one that would make him stronger than any other man...if it worked. Steve had been trapped in this miniscule form for so long, he couldn't even imagine escaping it. Jittery nerves accompanied him on the car ride to somewhere unknown.

"I know this neighborhood. I got beat up in that alley. And that parking lot. And behind that diner." Steve couldn't contain his words, as rose colored memories coated the grimy streets of Brooklyn he watched out of the car window.

"Did you have something against running away?" Peggy asked, a smile tinting her words.

Steve scoffed dryly. "You start running they'll never let you stop. You stand up, push back. Can't say no forever, right?" Plus, I knew I'd always have a knight in shining armor to come save me...

"I know a little of what that's like. To have every door shut in your face."

Right, because she's a woman. Shit, a beautiful woman! Uh, okay, probably should...flirt with her? I don't know. "I guess I just don't get why you'd wanna join the army if you're a beautiful dame. Or a beautiful... a woman. An agent, not a dame! You are beautiful, but..."

"You have no idea how to talk to a woman, do you?" Ha.

"This is the longest conversation I've had with one. Women aren't exactly lining up to dance with a guy they might step on." Or a guy who regularly has a dick up his ass.

"You must've danced?" Sure, in the living room with my guy, slowly rotating as the radio crackled out songs we wished we could dance to live...

But I can't say that. Steve bit his lip as he replied, "Well, in the past few years, it just didn't seem to matter that much. Figured I'd wait." 

"For what?"

A ghost of a smile graced his icy lips. "The right partner."

Steve joked his way through the facility, staying afloat in a sea of fear with light words. They were surprisingly buoyant, but did nothing to ease his terror as he was strapped into the pod.

A sharp prick pierced Steve's arm, and he winced as the serum was pushed into his bloodstream. "That wasn't so bad," he said, smile faltering when he saw Dr. Erskine's pitying look.

"That was penicillin."

Oh, Lord help me.

The pod lifted and closed around Steve, his only company being quick breaths and the memory of the man who always calmed him. "C'mon, sweetie, you're okay. Just breathe, see? You're doing great, Stevie, good job..."

"Steven, can you hear me?" the pleasant voice said, accompanied by a startling rap on the metal pod.

"It's probably too late to go to the bathroom, right?"

And so it began.

Excruciating pain began flooding Steve's body, starting out at an unbearable level and then growing. He tried to hold in his screams, but couldn't as the lights and sounds surrounding him drilled an agonizing course through his body.

"...teven!" I hear dimly. The alarm in the voice registers somehow, and my pain-muddled brain puts together that they want to shut this down as another voice calls out, "Kill the reactor, Mr. Stark! Turn it off! Kill it! Kill the reactor!"

"No! Don't! I can do this!" I yell out, though every rapidly changing cell in my body is screaming at me to stop the pain. So it continues, pulling and pushing and bursting me until it suddenly...stops.

The supernatural light that transformed me disappears, but the darkness that follows is swiflty interrupted by the opening of the pod. I'm breathing heavily, covered in swear. I feel slightly dizzy and uneasy as I breathe out, "I did it."

I did it.


	5. When Skies Were Gray

Steve had expected many things when he was accepted into the war effort. This was not one of them.

He was strong. And was an experience unparalleled by anything he'd ever known, being able to live his life unshackled by the restrictions of the body he was born in. Steve thought that once he became this new man, his only struggles would be the perils of war and the icy chill of Bucky's absence. He was sorely mistaken.

It had been a year. One year as a puppet, a fraud dancing around in a brightly colored outfit that masked his sorrow and drowned him in comic books and teddy bears. He just wanted to go home, wake up to the Brooklyn skyline and a lover's arms every hopeful morning. But instead he was paraded about and objectified, turned into the face of a war effort he lost faith in every day.

Children loved him, climbed on his arms and begged for his autograph. He would oblige, but remember the days when he was their size. The memories sent a shiver coursing through him, and he buried them to pretend that he was happy in this new life he had doomed himself to live.

And then it all changed. At first, it didn't seem like it was for the better. He felt himself become a hair warmer as the plane carted him to the warfront, the thought of his James becoming nearer bringing a smile to his face. Though he was losing hope that he may see his love again, Steve still prayed that Europe may grant him the reunion he had dreamed of every night since the day they parted. 

He found himself in front of an assembly of soldiers, tired and broken men who wanted nothing more than to see him mocked. This was understandable, of course, but their harsh words still cut Steve's morale. He left the stage quickly, cursing himself under his breath and wishing he could have soft words spoken to him instead by a raspy voice he could listen to all day.

Steve later sat on the edge of the stage, sketching out a crude drawing of a dancing monkey and bathing in self loathing thoughts. "Hello, Steve," a lovely voice intoned, and Steve looked up to find Peggy standing there. He was grateful for her support, of course, but the lingering glances she threw his way did anything but make him feel comfortable.

"Hi. What are you doing here?"

"Officially, I'm not here at all." Her red lips curled into a smile. "That was quite a performance."

Steve let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah. Uh... I had to improvise a little bit. Crowds I'm used to are usually more uh... twelve."

"I understand you're 'America's New Hope'?"

"Bond sales take a ten percent bump in every state I visit," he responded, voice becoming more dead as he repeated facts told to him by people who only saw the body given to him by a lab experiment.

"Is that Senator Brandt I hear?"

"At least he's got me doin' this," Steve defended, "Phillips would have had me stuck in lab."

Peggy looked at him with piercing serenity. "And these are your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey? You were meant for more than this, you know."

"You know for the longest time I dreamed about coming overseas and being on the front lines. Serving my country. I finally get everything I wanted, and I'm wearing tights." Those last words tore their way out of his mouth in quiet loathing, but a car honking kept him from saying more. He turned to see an ambulance arrive with wounded soldiers, men carrying burdens Steve couldn't even imagine. "They look like they've been through hell."

"These men more than most. Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men went up against him and less than fifty returned. Your audience contained what was left of the one-oh-seventh. The rest were killed or captured."

Steve's heart skipped a beat. "The one-oh-seventh?" He ran to Colonel Philips' tent without a word, ignoring Peggy's questioning words as she followed briskly. "I need the casualty list from Azzano," he demanded, before Philips could say a word.

"You don't get to give me orders, son."

"I just need one name. Sergeant James Barnes from the hundred and seventh." Steve felt himself begin to panic, but hid his fear under a mask of determination.

"You and I are gonna have a convers-" Steve cut him off quickly.

"Please tell me if he's alive, sir. B-A-R..."

"I can spell." Philips paused, and Steve felt a little sick as pity touched the man. "I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count. But the name does sound familiar. I'm sorry."

"What about the others? Are you planning a rescue mission?"

"Yeah, it's called winning the war."

Steve began speaking faster, desperate to have anything give. "But if you know where they are, why not at least-?"

"They're thirty miles behind the lines. Through the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. We'd lose more men than we'd save. But I don't expect you to understand that, because you're a chorus girl."

Oh, bitch. "I think I understand just fine."

"Well then understand it somewhere else. If I read the posters correctly, you got some place to be in thirty minutes."

Oh, bitch. "Yes, sir, I do." And he swept out without another word.

"What do you plan to do, walk to Austria?" Peggy asked. Steve kind of wanted her to leave, but responded nonetheless.

"If that's what it takes."

"You heard the Colonel, your friend is most likely dead." 

Steve shuddered at the thought and snapped, "You don't know that."

"Even so, he's devising a strategy. If he detects-"

"By the time he's done that, it could be too late! You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?"

"Every word." She said it with utter sincerity, and Steve felt in that moment more respect for her than he ever had before.

"Then you gotta let me go."

Peggy smiled a little, though not from joy. "I can do more than that."

And so Steve found himself on a plane, piloted by a snarky man he couldn't say he liked very much. His stomach churned with anxiety, but he shoved down his fear to better prepare himself for the most important task of his life.

The battle he faced going towards that intoxicating heat, it was terror and exhilaration's love child dancing on the precipice of a madman's desperation. Steve fought brutally, with a force he had never possessed in all those back alley brawls Bucky had to pull him away from. Had to save him from. I'll save you, Steve thought, I'll be the knight in shining armor this time.

He saw a cage filled to the brim with soldiers. He let them out, scanning beaten faces for that one he loved so much. But the cage was cold- warmer than other places, to be fair, but cold nonetheless. "Who are you supposed to be?" One of those faces demanded, and Steve hesitated in his deliberation of how to respond.

"I'm...Captain America."

A hurried exchange of questions and orders passed, but Steve's mind lingered on the man he had come for. "Is there anybody else? I'm looking for a Sergeant James Barnes."

"There's an isolation ward in the factory, but no one's ever come back from it," another man answered, and Steve felt his stomach lurch. Please be alive, Bucky. Dear God, please let him be alive.

He swept his way through dark hallways, feeling a heat in his chest grow as he approached the area the men said Bucky would be. And then... "Sergeant. 32557..."

Steve ran into the room, and saw the most horrifying sight of his entire life. "Bucky?" he said with wide eyes, "Oh, my God."

The beautiful man Steve had fallen in love with what felt like a lifetime ago was strapped to a table, surrounded by instruments and equipment Steve didn't even want to know the purpose of. He gently undid the restraints as fast as he could, as a slurred voice blessed his ears. "Is that..."

"It's me. It's Steve."

"Steve?" He frowned.

"Come on."

A tired but joyful smile erupted on his face. "Steve."

Steve practically had to carry Bucky out of there, not that he minded in the least. "I thought you were dead," he said in an exhale, relief and fear and shock painted onto every syllable. 

"I thought you were smaller..."

They ran into Schmitt and Zola on a bridge, fire erupting from the caverns of the factory Steve was glad to see burn. He held Bucky up against his side as he exchanged words with the Nazi scum, anger momentarily distracting him from concern.

And then Schmitt peeled off his face, and disgust distracted him from anger. "You don't have one of those, do you?" Bucky asked weakly.

"You are deluded, Captain. You pretend to be a simple soldier, but in reality you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind. Unlike you, I embrace it proudly. Without fear!" Schmitt was a madman, deluded and past the point to be considered sane. 

"Then how come you're running?" Steve retorted to the ascending pair of men. He received no response. Steve and Bucky were left alone on a catwalk over flames, the only escape in the form of a thin gantry over the destroyed factory. "Let's go. One at a time."

Bucky made it across fine, but as he reached the end the support collapsed behind him. "Gotta be a rope or something!" he yelled across the gap.

"Just go! Get out of here!" Steve wasn't about to let the man he had just saved die alongside him.

Bucky responded immediately, voice raw and words guttural. "No! Not without you!"

Though he knew it was a long shot, Steve recognized the only way to keep them both safe. Lord knows Bucky wasn't about to leave him there, that lovable idiot. He prepared himself... and jumped, crashing into Bucky on the other side.

The rest of their escape was relatively easy, and they were able to meet up with the other men on the outside. Steve was proudly introduced by Bucky to his comrades, men who James claimed were the best soldiers God ever made. Steve was happy to meet them, though far more happy to be in the everlasting heat of Bucky's presence.

They caught up on the long walk back to the base, wanting to touch each other but staying apart for appearance's sake. Steve told Bucky about the not-so-glamorous adventures of Captain America, and was given tales of the true heroics of the 107th division in return. He could hardly keep a grin off his face, though their situation was dire, because no peril was real when he had James Barnes by his side.

After their first full day of walking, the men decided to camp in a small meadow in the forest. They had no tents, no food, no way to keep warm other than each other. So no one was too surprised when Steve and Bucky went a bit further away from the others, cuddled a bit closer than other situations would deem proper.

"I missed you so much," Steve whispered, once countless stars had lulled most of the men to sleep. "I thought about you every day."

Bucky smiled, and risked a small kiss on Steve's mouth. "I missed you too, love. Was so worried my dumb little punk was gonna get himself into a fight he couldn't win. I guess my fears were valid." Steve chuckled softly, and just looked at Bucky's bloody and dirty face, illuminated by the moonlight. "I love you. So fucking much."

"Language," Steve responded slyly, earning a light punch to the stomach.

"Oh, c'mon, that was one time!" Bucky whisper-yelled, and Steve muffled his giggles against Bucky's neck. The laughter faded into a contented sigh, and Bucky tightened his arms around Steve. "We're here now, though. We might die in these woods, or on a battlefield, but we're together. And that's what matters, right?"

"Always." Steve pulled away slightly to look at Bucky's face again, and kissed it just because he could. "You know I love you too, right?"

"Yeah, Stevie. I know."


	6. I Hope You Knew, Dear

The icy wind was bracing on Steve's cheeks, and he looked over at Bucky beside him. "You wanna catch up with the others?" Though the question was asked casually, Steve had a deeper panic inside him.

Bucky was not the same after Azzano. He was distant, different. Steve would lose him to memory and blank stares, or nightmares that woke him with piercing screams. The Commandos asked that James sleep further from camp because of this. Steve was more than happy to go with.

But they were happy, truly. They were warm, heat blossoming in the love they made on cold nights. And Steve? Well, he hadn't felt this much joy since Bucky had shipped off to war. He was overjoyed to have the man back, even if things weren't exactly the same.

It was a routine mission, really. Routine at least for the advanced task force that was the Howling Commandos. The men had grown together, worked as a well oiled machine. And that machine was set to take on Dr. Zola today.

That was, if Bucky would stop blankly staring at the snow covered dirt, mind stuck in a cycle of torture. Steve had asked the others to move on when Barnes stumbled to the ground, knowing that he was the only one who would be able to pull Bucky out of the episode.

"Bucky?" Steve said again, "Buck, are- c'mon, snap out of it. You're not there anymore, you're with me- you're with Steve! James? Bucky, honey, please-"

Steve heard a shuddering inhale, and Bucky struggled for breath as though he had been held underwater for the past minute or so. Steve knelt beside the man and held him, daring to show affection around the others if it meant Bucky would be okay. "Steve," he gasped, "St-"

"Shh, I'm here," Steve soothed, helping pull Bucky to his feet, "You're safe."

Bucky shook his head several times and slowed his breathing. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Let's go catch up to the others."

They looked at the long drop ahead of them, Bucky still recovering. "Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?" he said lightly, trying to cover up his vulnerability stemming from the episode and a crippling fear of heights.

"Yeah, and I threw up?"

"This isn't payback, is is?"

Steve looked over at him and smiled grimly. "Now why would I do that?"

Gabe turned his head from the icy overlook to look at Steve and Bucky. "We were right. Dr. Zola's on the train. Hydra dispatcher gave him permission to open up the throttle. Wherever he's going, they must need him bad."

"Let's get going, because they're moving like the devil," Falsworth chimed in.

"We only got about a 10-second window. You miss that window, we're bugs on a windshield." Steve's stomach churned in fear, but he covered it with a mask of strength to hold up his fellow soldiers.

"Mind the gap."

"Better get moving, bugs!"

And with that they were off, hearts pounding as they flew at neck breaking speeds towards the moving train. Steve let out a small huff of air as he made contact, but managed to get inside without making the cordless bungee jump to the faraway ground.

Without a moment of relief, they were fighting. Fists and gunfire passed in a blur, a delicate dance Steve was, unfortunately, all too used to. "I had him on the ropes," Bucky wheezed out, earning an affectionate grin from his lover.

"I know you did." Out of the corner of his eye, Steve spotted a HYDRA trooper carrying a blaster. "Get down!"

A hole was torn through the side of the train, icy wind amplifying the fear in Steve caused by adrenaline and desperation. That fear multiplied exponentially when Bucky, Bucky, was flown outside of that hole like a rag doll.

"BUCKY!" Steve raced to him, and found the man hanging outside the train, grasping a metal rod with all his strength. "Hang on!" Steve cried out, reaching as far as he could, "Grab my hand!"

Bucky reached as far as he could, face showing the strain of this painful action. They were so close, hands a breath away from touching once again, when the world lost all sympathy and threw James down.

"NO!" The word was torn out of Steve's throat. He watched in horror as that beauty was sent plummeting, free falling and flipping down into the snowy hell below. Steve couldn't move, paralyzed by an emotion so strong it existed without a name.

He didn't know how long he just hung there, clinging to the outside of the train and looking down with wide eyes. "Cap? Cap! Rogers-Steve! Steve, move!"

Gabe's yells seemed like they came from another plane of existence, one much less horrifying than the one where Steve was dying. Hands grabbed him, tried to pull him away from the wide hole Bucky had just... had just... had just...

The drop, the horror, it made Steve freeze. James was eternally falling, his terrified expression and outstretched hand burned into Steve's eyes, eyes filling with tears at the sight. He went limp, allowing Gabe to drag him inside the train car.

The man was saying... something... but everything... it all felt so far away. Steve became transfixed by the sight of snowy mountains passing by so quickly, letting the numb take over him. He heard the man say things like "move", like "danger". And then he heard, "I can't let you die too."

Fuck.

The numb bubble shattered, fragments of an easier reality where Bucky was not dead stabbing into Steve. He choked, air dragged out of him like a vacuum. Gabe grabbed him again, and through bleary eyes Steve saw tears on his face. Saw anger. Saw fear.

And a fog overtook him, a hazy nothingness that was like the eye of a hurricane. Much easier to stay where destruction cannot reach you, even if it means no one else can, either.

Steve woke up in a cot. Loud voices around him. He turned to the side to wake up Bucky. Bucky wasn't there. And it all hit again.

Sobs, wracking and devastated, became everything. Steve clutched his aching stomach and collapsed in on himself, let the strength of Captain America fall away and the weakness of Steve Rogers become all that he was. It didn't matter who saw him like this, nothing mattered. He was oblivious in his misery as his Commandos entered his tent solemnly.

"Timothy, not now."

"When else? This is our best shot at taking down Schmitt, and we need Captain America to do it. One week, that's all we've got, and if we don't get him up and moving now he'll never be ready."

Steve stuffed his face into the pillow, muffling the angry voices. What did it matter. Bucky was... Bucky...

"Steve? Rogers? C'mon, get up. I know this is... this is hard, it is, but you need to get up now."

Blearily, he turned to the sound. "Huh."

"There's..." Dum Dum was somber, understanding, but firm. "There's an oppurtunity. Zola did some talking once we captured him, said Schmitt's planning something big. One week from today. Something catastrophic, Steve, something that we need to stop. Look, I know you and Sarge were close, but you gotta help us. If you don't, the entire Eastern seaboard is goin' up in flames."

Steve gazed blankly at his scratchy blanket, mulling over these words with a foggy brain. "Yeah, alright. Okay."

Relief was prominent in the hearts of those men, though other things would soon fill them with dread.

The days leading up to an inevitable demise were brutal, torture to the Captain who just wanted to set down his shield and cry. They were waiting to strike until Schmitt's plan was in action, when he would have to let down his guard a little in order to carry it through. This gave the Commandos time to train, prepare for the fight of their lives.

Steve was fighting as well, though he faced a different beast. Cold hands had gripped his heart, squeezed the life from his chest and the air from his lungs. Icy depression flooded his being, made him shiver himself to sleep and wake as stiff as a corpse. He was miserable, each day more hopeless than the next.

He couldn't show it, though. No, Captain America had to be strong. He had to hide all sense of humanity to lead the world to victory, even if he began idly fantasizing about his own funeral. If he shared even a fraction of the pain tightening its hold on his mind, he would be lobotomized for the sake of the country. Steve had already lost enough, so he stayed silent.

Thus the night before their attack found him, sitting in the ruins of a bar. Bottle after bottle he drank to no avail, desperately making one last attempt to go back to that foggy state where he didn't have to feel anything. Soft footsteps made Peggy's prescence known, and Steve blearily wiped his face to hide the tears coating it.

"Dr. Erskine said that... the serum wouldn't just effect my muscles, it would effect my cells. Create a protective system of regeneration and healing. Which means um...I can't get drunk. Did you know that?" She sat beside him as he spoke, simply watching him.

"Your metabolism burns four times faster than the average person. He thought it could be one of the side effects." A heavy pause. "It wasn't your fault."

Steve swallowed another burning mouthful of vodka and grimaced bitterly. "Did you read the reports?"

"Yes."

"Then you know that's not true."

Silence overtook them, and Steve could feel that Peggy wanted to say more. They weren't close, though, not really, and so she kept her words simple. "Are you sure you'll be up to fight tommor-?"

"I'm not gonna stop until all of HYDRA is dead or captured."

He looked at her fiercely, and she nodded. "You won't be alone."

Things did not go as planned.

There are many ways this story could be told, but it's best to stick to the important parts. The sad parts. Pain is, after all, the most efficient way to find oneself.

They had made it into the HYDRA base. Fought. Then fought some more. And then a little after that. Life was violence, life was agony, and Steve was living it to the fullest.

A car. They sped along to the plane where Schmitt hid like a child, Philips and Peggy and him. Apprehension and fear coated their heart's, but Steve felt much more determined than he had in a long time. "Keep it steady..."

"Wait!" Peggy called out. Steve turned to her, confused, and felt her crimson lips press against his. "Go get him."

It was then that he truly made up his mind. Because he knew that this was his fate- to be misunderstood, misused, mistaken for the rest of his sorry life. To have his love so warm and pure be trod upon by hate and ignorance until the day he died.

So he decided that day would be March 12, 1945.

It wasn't a sound decision. It was one of desperation, of hopelessness. It wasn't a good decision, but it was the one he made.

And so, when it was all over, when Schmitt was dead and he sat in the cockpit of a HYDRA plane filled to the brim with explosives, Steve Rogers made a choice. He was cold, up until the moment ice engulfled him. He was alone, save for the memory of a beautiful man's smile and the tinny voice of Peggy Carter in his radio. She begged for his coordinates, he refused to give them. He refused to be saved.

"Love you," he whispered, once he had turned off the radio and let all be silent but his thoughts and the sound of the plane falling falling falling to its death. "See you soon."

And he hit the ground.

And he woke up.

"Curve ball, high and outside for ball one. So the Dodgers are tied, 4-4. And the crowd well knows that with one swing of his bat, this fellow's capable of making it a brand-new game again. Just an absolutely gorgeous day here at Ebbets Field. The Phillies have managed to tie up at 4-4. But the Dodgers have three men on. Pearson beaned Reiser in Philadelphia last month. Wouldn't the youngster like a hit here to return the favour? Pete leans in. Here's the pitch. Swung on. A line to the right. And it gets past Rizzo. Three runs will score. Reiser heads to third. Durocher's going to wave him in. Here comes the relay, but they won't get him."

The fuck?

Steve felt empty, freezing, and confused as he sat up and looked around the hospital room. Something wasn't right, but he could place his finger on it. Though his last memory was crashing the plane, he felt... calm. It felt like that was a very long time ago, almost like the feeling of waking up from an extensive dream.

A nurse walked in... wait. She didn't look like a nurse, at least not one that Steve recognized. His mother worked in the tuberculosis ward, he knew what their uniforms looked like. This wasn't it. "Good morning," the imposter said, "Or should I say, afternoon?"

"Where am I."

"You're in a recovery room in New York city."

He eyed her with suspicion. "No, I'm not. Where am I."

"I'm afraid I don't-"

Cold fury overtook him, replacing any emotions he had before waking up in this room. "I'm only going to ask you one more time. Where. Am. I."

"Captain Rogers-"

Men in black uniforms came into the room, and Steve easily knocked them through the walls of the room. A room that wasn't real, clearly, as beyond those walls laid some sort of warehouse. He jumped through the hole and raced away.

Outside the warehouse was a different world, one of colors and lights and sounds. Steve stopped running to wonder at it, turning to look at the thousands of things demanding his attention. SUV's surrounded him, spilling out more soldiers in black uniforms.

"At ease, soldier!" one of them called, wearing an eyepatch and black coat. "Look, I'm sorry about that little show back there, but... we thought it best to break it to you slowly."

"Break what?"

He looked almost sorrowful, but not quite. "You've been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years." Steve simply looked in shock, unable to comprehend this statement. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," Steve said automatically, though his words were far from the truth. "Yeah, I just... I had someone I wanted to see."


	7. How Much I Loved You

Steve was nervous. And more than the usual nervous, the one that had buried itself in his veins ever since he woke up, the one that constantly made him feel like he was about to be attacked. No, he was nervous. And more than a little angry.

Was it too much to ask that they had left that stupid cube in the ocean? Had Steve done nothing at all in his life to prove that it was not something to be trifled with? Clearly that was the case, as human greed had overcome common sense in the seventy years spent asleep.

One week. That's how long he had been in this nightmare. One week. Two since Bucky...

And he was adjusting. Nothing felt real, honestly, so it was easy to accept this new reality. Fury gave him free reign for the most part, let him explore and research to his heart's content. Not that his heart could ever be content again when it was shattered into a thousand pieces.

Steve was numb. Not an ignorant numb, but a brainless one. He knew what was going on, he just didn't really have the capacity to fully experience it. He had become a shell, an efficient one, but a shell.

And now this.

Steve was nervous that day because Fury had approached him with a mission. Because that stupid cube they never should've touched was on the loose, and Steve had to save the world again without even two weeks having passed since the last time. Well, not- no. Because it had been much longer than that. He had trouble remembering sometimes.

He found himself in some sort of jet, watching footage of the scientist in his other form on the rampage. The technology that had been developed... it was astounding. He was enraptured by the video, but was drawn out of his reverie by a question.

"So, this Doctor Banner wanted to replicate the serum? Y'know, the one they used on me?" he asked the man- sorry, Agent- who stood nearby.

"A lot of people were. You were the world's first superhero. Banner thought gamma radiation might hold the key to unlocking Erskine's original formula."

Steve laughed, a dry huff with no humor whatsoever. "Didn't really go his way, did it?"

"Not so much. When he's not that thing though, guy's like a Stephen Hawking." Great, another reference Steve couldn't understand. "He's like a... smart person."

Steve really hated being treated like a child incapable of processing the world around him, especially since he was virtually incapable of processing the world around him. If Buck were here, he wouldn't- "I gotta say, it's an honor to meet you, officially." Steve smiled up at the Agent gently. Maybe his weird standing around was just out of awkward admiration. "I sort of met you, I mean, I watched you while you were sleeping."

Yep, okay. Steve stood and left, not wanting to deal with that creepy shit. The Agent continued to defend himself, "I mean, I was... I was present while you were unconscious from the ice. You know, it's really, it's just a... just a huge honor to have you on board."

"Uh huh." Steve stayed stoic and silent, not allowing any conversation to continue. The Agent took the hint and sat down, letting Steve stew in his self hating thoughts.

There were so many things about this new century that baffled Steve, made him feel like the icy sadness inside him was choking him out. But what was bothering him that day, one might ask? The fact that the world had made a national holiday out of his suicide attempt.

No one got the day off, or had big celebrations. Not anymore. But Jesus, it cut Steve to the bone that the only thing history remembered about his life was his death. The only thing that was really important, anyways. No one cared about his friends, no one cared about his family, no one cared about... the only thing the world remembered was the mask he wore as Captain Fucking America, that righteous piece of shit he never really felt connected to.

And now that was all he was. The mask. Empty smiles covering cold fury covering a well of depression Steve would never escape from. And, oddly enough, he was fine with this. The only person who ever saw past the body he was in was dead. The only person who he could be himself around was dead. Steve Rogers died with that person. Captain America was simply walking around in the blond man's corpse.

They landed on another large vehicle of some sort. Met some others. Banner, the scientist. Romanoff, the spy. Stark, the asshole. Steve watched their faces pass by his broken gaze and simply resigned to work with them, so he might be able to go back to his apartment and lie in bed for a few days.

Fighting was natural for Captain America. It was all he did. Violence was his life, strategy the only thing that filled his mind. Steve sunk into the role, the façade, and let the numbness overcome him. Or at least, he tried to.

"Everything special about you came from a bottle."

Those were the words that haunted his dreams that night, after they had won and eaten their celebratory feast in silence. He had done his part, fought his battle, earned his victory. Yet all that was on his mind was a throwaway line from an old friend's son.

Everything special about you came from a bottle. It was true, wasn't it? Everything special about him came from the serum... and from Bucky. Bucky was the one who made him Steve, who made him special. Bucky was gone, so everything special about Steve... was artificial. Man made. Who was he, really?

No one.

March 10, 2013. Steve looked at the calendar with dread, knowing that tomorrow would be one of the worst days of his life. It was Bucky's birthday. And Steve was not prepared.

Bucky had died just a few days before he would've turned 27. Steve was so broken, that day was blocked out of his memory. March 10, 1945. But now? Now he had had some time to adjust, to reconcile with the fact that life was cold and love was dead. Now, he would remember. Now, he would hurt once more.

Steve's phone beeped, and he pulled the device out of his pocket. Clumsily unlocking it, he saw a text from Natasha. The fiery red head had actually been quite nice to Steve, treated him like a human being instead of a machine or a child. And he appreciated that, really, even if she could be a bit overbearing and rude and flirty and nosy and violent and irritating. That was everyone, nowadays, so Romanoff was really the cream of the crop.

Oh, shit, but she wasn't in that moment.

Natasha Romanoff - 3/10, 7:43 PM  
Hey, you free tomorrow? I wanna go see Dark Skies (movie) in the theater. It's a science fiction deal, I bet you'll like it.

Steve scrambled for excuses, finally deciding on one.

CAPSR - 3/10, 7:45 PM  
Sorry, I'm spending time with Thor. Maybe another time. -Steve

He was seeing Thor, but just so that the god could bring him enough Asgardian mead to be wasted for a week. It was going to be a brief meeting, but Natasha didn't need to know that.

Natasha Romanoff - 3/10, 7:46 PM  
That's great! I'm glad you're spending time with people. Speaking of which, Pepper's hosting a game night for everyone on Friday, you should come. Scratch that, you're coming. It'll be fun.

CAPSR - 3/10, 7:46 PM  
What? Why? Who's "everyone"?

Natasha Romanoff - 3/10, 7:47 PM  
Game night is where you get together and play games. We're doing it for team bonding. "Everyone" is the Avengers. You know, the team.

Steve rolled his eyes, but tried to stay civil.

CAPSR - 3/10, 7:48 PM  
Okay. I'll go.

The next morning, Steve awoke with a groan. Just hold on until Thor gets here, he thought to himself, desperate to be drunk from the moment he remembered the date. 

He waited by the front window of his apartment, memories glazing over his eyes. Bucky laughing. Bucky fighting. Bucky falling. Bucky falling. Bucky falling. Bucky-

A sharp knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts, and he wiped away a few (way more than a few) tears before answering it with a fake smile. "Hey, Thor!"

"Captain!" Thor bellowed, "I have brought what you asked. What is your celebration, to require so much-" Steve took the goods and slammed the door, opening the barrel and pouring a large glass. He gulped the burning liquid, ignoring his pain, and felt a buzz come over him. Well, at least I know it works.

Soon enough he was drunk as a skunk, huddled under six blankets yet still shivering. "Interneeet," he moaned to his closed laptop, "Why am I so cold?"

When no one answered him, Steve pulled out his phone and googled "why ma i dso fujcking freezing all thnne tgime????????????" After a second of loading, results popped up that made him a lot more sober almost instantly.

When Things Go Cold: A Novel by Kwame Ababio  
The Soulmate Conundrum  
Playing Hot and Cold- How to Find Your Soulmate  
Scientific Proof for Soulmates  
What to Do When You Lose Your Soulmate  
Lost Soulmate Grief Counseling

Holy shit.

Steve woke up with a massive headache, covered in God knows what in the middle of his living room. He had blacked out about 6 glasses into the mead, and his head was not a fan. He stood stiffly to get a glass of water, and chugged it before resigning to pick up a little.

Hearing a buzz, Steve located his phone on a pile of pizza boxes and picked it up... shit. It was Thursday, four days since Thor had come bearing gifts Steve was perhaps too eager to accept. He went into his messages, determined to find out what had gone on in those days his memory failed to recall.

Natasha Romanoff - 3/11, 10:05 AM  
Hey, how was Thor? Haven't seen him since we all got together in January.

CAPSR - 3/11, 1:24 PM  
HEY hes good and we gung out a lot and we had so much fun

Natasha Romanoff - 3/11, 1:30 PM  
...You good, Cap?

CAPSR - 3/11, 1:35 PM  
Oh my god natasha whhy do you have to be so nosy im jhust living my fucking lide why do you even care were njo teven friends you just talk to nme becayuse fury tells you to

Natasha Romanoff - 3/11, 1:35 PM  
That's not true, Steve. Are you okay? Do you need me to come to your apartment?

CAPSR - 3/11, 1:38 PM  
nooo stop fucking talking to nme i ndont want ouop to come ober ojkay im good im just drunk an d i dont want to talk to uyou

Natasha Romanoff - 3/11, 1:39 PM  
Okay.

Pepper Potts - 3/13, 2:01 PM  
Hello, Steve. I emailed you, but you didn't respond...are you going to be available for game night on Friday?

CAPSR - 3/13, 4:14 PM  
yeah sure sounds good

Natasha Romanoff - One Missed Call  
3/13, 5:00 PM

Natasha Romanoff - 23 Min Call  
3/13, 6:00 PM

Tony Stark - 3/13, 6:48 PM  
Pepper's busy, but she said Tasha texted her and wanted to ask if you were okay?

CAPSR - 3/13, 6:52 PM  
im fucking fine ok natasha is just being a biucth dont evebn worry

Tony Stark - 3/13, 7:29 PM  
K

Pepper Potts - 3/14, 3:15 PM  
Don't forget to come to the Tower at 5 tomorrow! See you then.

Steve groaned again, and threw the phone to the ground.

Steve had decided to wait until "game night" to ask his questions. The fact that Natasha had not contacted him since that 23 minute phone call two days ago worried him, and he hoped she would be there so he could find out what that was all about. He parked his motorcycle in the employee parking lot of Stark Tower and walked inside, telling the talking elevator to bring him to the 32 floor.

The silence of the ride unsettled him, but he shook it off. So many things were different about this new world, it was impossible to focus on small things like elevator music.

The doors opened to a stoic room, full of people in tense positions on a set of couches surrounding a coffee table. Steve locked eyes with Natasha, who pierced straight through him with vivid green intensity. "Hey, Steve!" Bruce said cheerfully, though the sickly man was clearly not cheerful.

"Hey... um, Natasha, could I talk to you please?" Although Steve had practiced saying this sentence about eight thousand times since he woke up yesterday afternoon, it came out flat and awkward.

"Sure. Let's all talk."

"Um, I meant more like talk alon-"

"No, really," she said icily, "Let's talk. Should we start with how you called me an attention seeking whore who needs to mind her own business, or how you said that nothing I do is going to change my past and I should stop trying to save a world that's already destined to burn?"

Steve's jaw dropped, and his shock was mirrored across the room. Clearly, Natasha had been waiting to share her anger until Steve got there. "Natasha, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean any of that. I honestly don't even remember saying it, I was so drunk-"

"For four days? Come on, Steve, that's kind of a lame excuse. If you're going to say shit like that, at least own up to it."

"Why would I lie? Why would I ever say those things if I wasn't drunk out of my mind?"

"Why were you drunk?" Pepper piped up suddenly, before Natasha could respond. 

Tony frowned for a moment. "Wait, Howard told me he can't even get drunk! How-"

"The Captain and I arranged to meet so I could bring him Asgardian mead. Though we did not get a chance to speak, I would assume that he became intoxicated off of that."

Pepper shot a furious look at Thor. "Why would you give him your Asgardian whatever? Without knowing any of the consequences it would have on a human?"

"I simply wished to-"

"That's irresponsible, it clearly affected him badly for him to say-"

"Didn't Steve say that he hung out with Thor? So why are you saying now that you guys didn't even talk?"

"Well, it was not my choice, he refused to let me into his home and simply took the..."

Steve backed away slowly as they all talked about his seemingly horrible actions right in front of him, as if he wasn't even there. Bucky would shut this down, he'd defend Steve. But Bucky was gone.

Steve shivered violently, overcome by the freezing reality of his solitude. Bucky was gone. Everything had gone cold because Bucky was gone-

"Steve?" Natasha said loudly, with concern. The others stopped talking and looked curiously to their Captain. "What are... are you shivering?"

"It's cold," he defended, as he had many times to many people, "I'm just cold."

While a few of the others seemed to overlook this statement, Natasha squinted at him for a moment before her expression cleared up into understanding and pity. "Were you in a relationship before your plane went down?"

Steve was confused by the question, but those gathered acted like it was the answer to all of theirs. "I- what?"

"Were you in a relationship back in the forties, were you in love? This is important."

"I..." Steve didn't want to tell them about Bucky, have their opinion of him destroyed, but she said it was important... "Yeah. Yes, I was."

Pity passed around the room, infecting the Avengers who started to let out sighs and breaths. "Wait, but what does this have to do with the drunk stuff?" Rhodey questioned Natasha.

"I'm guessing there was a birthday or an anniversary or something... Steve, am I right?"

He was helpless to do anything but nod dumbly. Tony let out a low whistle. "Jesus, that's- they discovered it in the sixties, right? Yeah, so that would make sense, that he doesn't know-"

"Know what? What are you guys talking about?"

"Come and sit down, Steve. Sorry for being angry, I didn't realize- just come sit down, okay?" Steve wanted answers, so he did as he was told, but he didn't feel good about it. Natasha smiled gently before turning to the group assembled. "Does anyone else want to...?"

"I can," Bruce spoke up, turning to Steve. "So, you were in love in the forties. When you were around her, were you warmer? As in, you physically felt warmer when you were around her?"

"How did you know that?" Steve asked suspiciously, ignoring the irritatingly incorrect pronouns.

Bruce straightened before continuing, "Because... well, because you're cold now. And- okay, so I guess I'll start by saying that soulmates are real. That's just the term most people use for it, there's a more scientific one, but they're real. Not many people have one, but it's legitimate. Scientifically proven. When two people share at least one centillion atoms that were within one cubic inch of each other at the creation of the universe, those atoms automatically send signals to the brain to make the human carrying them warmer while they are around one another."

"Huh?"

"You and the person you love are soulmates. Because your atoms were close when the universe was created, specific signals are sent when you're near each other that make you warm. Once you've met, you become cold when you're not around them. And when they die-"

"I'm cold all the time." Steve let this sink in for a moment. It felt oddly familiar, though there was no way it could be. Everyone, even asshole Stark looked apologetic, like they were the ones who let Bucky fall off the train. "Is there a cure?" Steve asked softly, after a long pause, "Is there a way I can be warm again?"

Bruce looked painfully apologetic, and Steve knew the answer before it was said. "I'm so sorry, but... the only way for a person with a soulmate to be warm again is to be around their soulmate. And if that soulmate is dead... there just isn't a way. I'm sorry."

More silence filled the room. The air seemed colder to Steve, know that he knew it would never be warm again. Clint looked pained, conflicted, and he eventually let out a tense sigh. "I'm sorry, but can we play Monopoly now?"

Steve looked at Natasha, who looked right back. There was a silent agreement between them, a solidarity. A mutual understanding of pain. A connection that had not been there before. "Yeah, let's play a game," she answered, offering a small smile to Steve. He returned it shockingly easily.


	8. Before They Took My Sunshine Away

Life had been... steady, for the most part. Steve hated to say that, but it was true. Two years had passed since the battle of New York. This day, in fact, was the anniversary. Steve had done his best to move on. To celebrate New Years without wishing he could sneak off with Bucky. To see gay couples, married gay couples, without thinking about the wedding he wished he could have with Bucky. To exist without constantly wishing he was with Bucky. He tried, and for the most part he failed.

The Avengers had gently urged him over the years to see a therapist or join a grief group. He declined every time. Steve had to be the Captain for them, had to wear the mask so much it became his face. The Captain showed no pain. The Captain made no friends. The Captain was cold, but the Captain had an easier life than Steve Rogers.

May first. The second anniversary of the Battle of New York. Last year, Tony had thrown a party that lasted for three days. This year, Pepper was forcing him to keep it to one night. Steve didn't like parties, never had, but they were an excuse to get blackout drunk without people throwing pitying glances or offhanded comments his way. He went to as many as he could.

Steve gave himself a once over in the mirror, satisfied with the well fitted suit in a modest blue and red tie. He played up the patriotism, it was easier that way. Less personal questions, more "yes sir"s.

The celebration was well underway by the time Steve arrived, younger women in skimpy dresses and older men in colored suits prancing around a huge yard to the tune of fame-lust and a booming bass. Steve wanted to leave the moment he came, but he continued inside nevertheless.

TV screens inside the mansion Tony bought for the occasion showed highlights from the battle. Grainy cell phone footage, right alongside official news broadcasts. Some people cheered as they watched aliens die, others completely ignored the screens and focused on the drinks. Steve joined their ranks.

He pounded shot after shot after shot after shot, hoping to feel some sort of effect by the time Thor arrived. He swayed along to the tuneless music and wandered, putting on a harsh enough face that no one approached him with anything more than a "thank you for your service".

"Steve!" Tony yelled, drunk out of his mind, "When d'you get here? Wassuup!" The billionaire staggered over, practically threw himself into Steve's arms in his intoxicated clumsiness. "Whoops," he hiccuped, "Sorry bout that. When-wh-how ya doin?"

Unwilling to participate in his coworkers antics, Steve shoved Stark away and walked outside. C'mon, Thor, let me get as drunk as Tony is. Get here soon....

As if on que, a bright light heralded the arrival of the god. Steve ran over, a huge grin on his face. "Thor!" he called out, "I'm so glad you could finally make it!"

Thor looked at Steve cynically, seeing through that excited grin immediately. "Yes...I'm not giving you any mead, Steve."

"What?"

"You've had enough. I have thought hard about this, and it's time you move on from intoxication and find other ways to heal your heart. I'm sorry." Steve looked at the traitor with an open mouth as he walked away, sauntering towards adoring fans who squealed at the sight of a Norse god.

"Fuck him," Steve muttered, "I don't need that shit. Bet I could get a buzz from chugging a bottle of vodka..."

And that's exactly what he did.

Hours later, Steve was still painfully sober despite his best efforts. Exhausted and cold, he was huddled under a blanket in the corner of the second level living room. Natasha came teetering in, not quite wasted but not sober either. "Steve, you in here?" she mumbled.

"Yeah," he responded quietly. She came over and sat down next to him on the carpet, lolled her head over.

"You good?" Natasha asked. "Seem kinda...down."

"M'cold..."

Natasha hummed, and grabbed a pillow from the couch to cuddle. "What was, uh, was she like?" the redhead slurred, leaning her head back and closing her eyes.

"Was...?"

"Y'know, your girl. Your soulmate."

"Oh..." Steve thought over the question. Thought over soft hair and soft smiles, calloused hands that were always so, so warm. Felt tears well in his eyes. "She was...she was beautiful. And kind, so goddamn kind. Did everything...she could to make the world better. When all she needed to do was live."

"Is she still alive? But, like, old?"

Steve flinched at the bluntness of the question, but Natasha didn't notice in her drowsy and tipsy state. "No, she died before I went into the ice."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Yeah." Steve thought for a moment, and decided to voice the thought that had been on his mind over the past months. "I wish...I want to move on, Nat. And it feels so awful to say that, because h-she was everything to me, but I need to stop hurting. I need to be warm again, even if it's in someone else's arms. Does that make me a bad person?"

"No, it makes you normal. I think. But like, can you even have another soulmate? Issat a thing?"

"Google says it is..."

"Oh, okay, cool. Yeah, that's...mmm. Imma sleep, kay?"

"Okay."

Two days later, Steve went for a run in the early hours of the morning. He was tired-not because he had done anything to be so, but because life had taken its toll on the Star Spangled Man. So he he ran. Running was something he could do, something that came easily to him. 

There was only one other man running that moment, a rather slow fellow. "On your left," Steve called out the first time, knowing he was fast and didn't want to barrel into the guy.

"On your left," he said the second time. Still, the man didn't respond. "On your left," Steve said again, when he came around.

"Uh huh, on my left. Got it." Steve smiled on the inside at the snarky response, and made his way around one more time. "Don't say it, don't you-"

"On your left."

"C'mon!"

Steve felt a little more alive than he did before when he found himself chatting with the man he had annihilated in their impromptu competition. Sam Wilson. Then he got a little colder when he saw a text come in.

Natasha Romanoff - 5/3, 6:39 AM  
MISSION ALERT.  
EXTRACTION IMMINENT.  
MEET AT THE CURB. :)

"Alright, Sam, duty calls. Thanks for the run. If that's what you wanna call running." A bit more back and forth, and then Natasha pulled up.

"Hey, fellas. Either one of you know where the Smithsonian is? I'm here to pick up a fossil."

"That's hilarious," Steve said, deadpan.

The mission went...the mission was...interesting. Steve didn't like it when people hid things from him. He liked to be in the know. So finding out that Natasha was actively undermining his actions, that SHIELD was launching a global "protection" program? Didn't make him happy.

He went to the Smithsonian. It was a comfort thing, something he did whenever he was in DC. He liked to look at the big monument devoted to Buck, pretend that the unmoving face was still alive. Pretend he was warm, if just for a moment. It never worked, but it didn't need to. It was a brief comfort, and that was enough.

He watched Peggy talk about a mission briefly, smiled at her face. Ah, Peg. She was always something. He left, sparing one more glance for his guy before going home.

It was dark outside. Though Steve had gotten to the museum in the late afternoon, he didn't realize just how long he'd been there. Silence carried him back to his apartment, where the over-friendly neighbor tried to get in his pants again. He declined as softly as possible, then stiffened when he heard music coming from behind his door.

Steve entered through the window, grabbed his shield in preparation for a battle...and stopped. "I don't remember giving you a key," he said to Nick Fury, who sat heavily on the couch.

"You really think I'd need one? My wife kicked me out."

"I didn't know you were married."

"A lot of things you don't know about me."

Tense exchanges made Steve realize just how fucked he was. SHIELD was compromised? Not like it was shocking, or anything-

Three shots rang out, and Fury collapsed to the floor. "Don't...trust anyone," the Director wheezed, handing the Captain a flash drive before passing out. Steve heard someone breaking into his apartment, and Kate from next door came sweeping in with a gun before he could do anything.

"Captain Rogers?" she said cautiously, "Captain, I'm Agent 13 of SHIELD Special Service. I'm assigned to protect you."

Protect Steve? "On whose orders?"

"His," she said breathily, kneeling beside Fury and taking out a radio. "Foxtrot is down, he's unresponsive. I need EMTs."

"Do you have a twenty on the shooter?" A voice crackled out.

Steve spotted a dark-clothed man outside, his voice and resolve hardening in an instant. "Tell him I'm in pursuit."

He crashed through the window, chasing the assassin through some office building. The guy was fast, suspiciously so, but Steve finally caught up to him on a roof. He threw his shield...and Fury's assailant caught it. And threw it back, knocking the wind out of Steve and disappearing into the night.

What?

Steve could see that Natasha was affected by Fury's death. They had watched him die on the operating table together, and a stone cold expression overtook her. 

The flash drive Fury gave him weighed heavily in Steve's pocket. He hid it in a vending machine before going to talk to Alexander Pierce, resolving to go get the thing later. His conversation with the man who claimed to be Fury's friend was tense, and Steve realized just how poignant Nick's advice not to trust anyone was. Especially when he found himself in an elevator.

The men around him were anxious, Steve could practically smell it. "Does anyone want to get off?"

No one did.

The "SHIELD agents" attacked, and Steve broke free with no small amount of effort. Gotta get that flash drive, he thought anxiously, putting on a hoodie and making his way back inside the Triskelion. The flash drive wasn't there...but Natasha was, popping her gum.

Fury overtook Steve, and he screamed at the woman to give him information. She broke just a little bit, telling him about the Winter Soldier. The Winter Soldier. The man who could catch Steve's shield. The man who murdered Nick Fury. Steve resolved to take him down.

Natasha and Steve dressed up in civilian clothing, walked into an electronics store and tried to find out what was on the flash drive. Steve grew uncomfortable when the redhead pretended to be his fiancé, but played along for the sake of their mission.

Natasha pulled him into a kiss to distract the HYDRA agents on their tail. Steve wanted to think that she had no ulterior motives, but the passion behind her lips and the look on her face when they parted made him realize how pointed her questions about his soulmate a few days ago had been. She wanted to be his new lover, and he couldn't bring himself to tell her that would never happen.

Steve knew that he would probably be accepted if he came out to the Avengers. Logically, he knew this. But he remembered all the slurs he had been called, the violence he had witnessed, and he just...he couldn't. He couldn't do it.

So when asked if that was his first kiss since 1945, he said it wasn't. After they reunited with Sam and Natasha threw Sitwell off a roof, Steve said he didn't want to date a woman because he wasn't ready for that. He didn't say he was gay. He didn't say his desire to move on was just to stop hurting, because he still loved Bucky more than anything and it was killing him. He said none of that.

They weren't his friends, none of them. All they saw was The Captain, the straight-A goody two shoes asshat that bossed them around so they couldn't try to get close to him. They didn't care about Steve, they cared about the shield and the serum. He had no obligation to tell them anything.

Sam drove them across a highway, Sitwell spewing bullshit in the backseat. It was uncomfortable, sure, but safe. Until the Winter Soldier pulled Sitwell out the window and threw him into traffic.

The car began to spin out of control as the Soldier kept attacking them. "Hang on!" Steve yelled, grabbing the car door and his fr-colleagues and bracing himself as they skidded across the asphalt. They came to a stop and scattered, shots being fired at them from HYDRA agents that seemed to come from nowhere.

Steve tried to stay alive as best he could, save the people around him while eliminate the source of the threat. And then the Winter Soldier came at him, attacking brutally with a speed and precision like nothing Steve had ever seen before.

They fought hand to hand, almost like a dance. The mask came flying off of...no. No, no.

"Bucky?"

Steve's entire being seemed to fizzle, crackling in a dizzy and confused fear. "Who the hell is Bucky?" the man said, lifting a gun. Steve just stared, helpless to do anything but be shot, until Sam came and knocked Bucky aside. Knocked Bucky aside. Bucky.

Men came, ordered him to his knees. Steve was reeling, unsure if he should be grateful or afraid. How...why? Why was- "Steve, listen!" Natasha yelled. Steve blinked, realizing that he was in a vehicle of some kind. That didn't matter, though...

"He looked at me like he didn't even know me," he mumbled, to the confusion of everyone else.

"Who did?" Sam asked, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Natasha glared at Steve, trying to understand what was going on inside his head. "Steve, what happened? Why are you acting like this?"

That's when Steve realized something. Something he had been too busy and scared to notice before. "I'm warm," he said urgently, "Natasha, I'm warm again."

Her eyes widened. "You're..."

"Warm. My soulmate...is alive."

A heavy silence filled the air, one that Sam finally filled by clearing his throat. "Not to be that guy, but what?"

Fury was alive. This came as a shock to Natasha, but Steve couldn't really care. There was one thing on his mind, that gentle heat that was finally, finally back to him. How had he not noticed, in those fights against the Soldier? How had it taken seeing Bucky's face to make him realize that he was warm once again?

The broken remainders of SHIELD wanted Steve to save them. "No," he said, much to their surprise.

"What did you just say?" Agent Hill asked, incredulous.

"I said no," he responded firmly, "I'm not gonna mop up your mess for you. Ask someone else. Stark, Barton, I don't care."

"They're busy-"

"That's your problem."

Fury looked at him, his single eye glaring a hole through Steve's skull. "You realize that the world is at stake here?"

"Fuck the world. I saved it already, twice. Find somebody else."

Natasha looked furious, Sam proud. Steve pulled back, and started to leave. Sam followed, a small grin on his face. "Okay, man, I don't know what's going on right now, but I'm gonna help you. Whatever you need, I'm here."

Steve stopped once the Director and others were out of sight and earshot, turning to Sam. Turning to his friend. "I need you to help me get my boyfriend back."

"Let's go."

"So, I can find him," Steve said, once they were in a stolen car and cruising away from SHIELD's secret facility, "But I don't know how many people are gonna be surrounding him. Plus, he might...he might not recognize me. This might end up bloody. Are you sure you want to help me?"

Sam scoffed. "Look, I'm a soldier. I know bloody. And I'd rather be helping you, when no one else will, than be sitting around and helping other people who can go anywhere else and get the same support."

"Fair enough."

Steve tuned into his body, tried to tell if his temperature changed as they moved South. This continued for about half an hour, until Steve realized that he started getting a lot warmer a lot quicker when they drove East.

"Got him."

Steve drove into some rinky dink town, realizing that the epicenter of his internal warmth was a dusty old bank. "You sure this is it?" Sam asked, and Steve nodded. "Okay."

They went to a nearby clothing store, where Sam got a trench coat and Steve got a button down shirt and jacket. Sam's coat was baggy enough to hide his wings and guns, and Steve just hoped that no one noticed the shield strapped to his back underneath his jacket.

They walked into the bank casually, walking up to the front desk with a smile. The woman there looked shocked as she noticed Steve, but he raised a finger to his lips to keep her silent. "Hello, there. I don't suppose you've seen a man by himself, or a smallish group of men come in here? I can give individual descriptions if you need."

"I just clocked in...but my boss told me not to go in the back. Said he was having one of the vaults checked out and wanted me to watch the front. Is that suspicious, Captain? Can-is that what you needed to know?"

She was so eager to help, Steve had to smile. "Yes, that's helpful. Thank you. Now, I need you to go outside and make sure no one else comes into this bank. Are you working with anyone else today?"

"Other than my boss? Just Todd and Sandy..."

"Okay. Get Todd and Sandy, and get out of here."

"Yes, sir."

Steve nodded to Sam, who lifted his chin. The woman ran into a door behind the desk, and emerged with two disgruntled looking employees just a minute later. They rushed out, and the soldiers dropped their coats and took out their arms. "Ready?" Steve asked.

"Ready."

The pair made their way through that door behind the counter, seeing a hallway with three glass doors showing small offices. They continued on, until they reached another door. A locked one. Steve kicked the door down, and braced himself for battle.

A man started firing at them before the door even touched the ground. Steve lifted his shield in defense, and Sam shot their assailant point blank in the chest. He fell to the ground, letting Steve see what they were dealing with.

Two vaults stood in front of them, both closed and locked. "Why was it just the one guy?" Sam asked cautiously, "Why isn't anybody else showing up?"

"They probably didn't expect anyone to care enough to find them," Steve muttered, "And these vaults are probably soundproofed. Right or left?" he asked, referring to which vault he wanted to break into. Sam walked to the one on the right, and started examining the mechanism of the lock.

Steve went to the left one and did the same, trying to find the best place to blast the thing open. With a grin, Steve looked over at Sam. "On your left."

"Shut up, man. I think if we-"

"Shoot at the space behind the center gear?"

"We can pull the thing open."

"Alright. Let's open yours first, then mine if Buck isn't in there." Sam nodded, and Steve walked over to help him. "Okay, point your gun there and I'll grab the knob...shoot!"

A blast echoed in the hall, and Steve quickly opened the vault door. A man in a white lab coat looked up in terror, only to be hit in the face with a vibranium frisbee. Steve looked around for more enemies, but instead he saw something that made his heart stop.

Bucky, strapped to a chair, limply jerking as some metal contraption performed an unknown but undeniably sinister task. Steve sprinted over, looked for any way to make it stop. Sam rushed over to help, spotting a computer sitting on a nearby table. "I think I can shut it down!" Sam yelled, madly typing onto the computer as Steve cupped Bucky's cheek for the first time in seventy years.

"C'mon, honey, you're okay, it's okay," he whispered hoarsely, unable to stop the flow of tears stemming from seeing Buck's clear agony. He stopped jerking, though, as Sam let out a whoop. Steve sighed in relief and tried to pull the contraption away from Bucky's head, succeeding by the time Sam came over to help. "Bucky?" Steve said softly, praying that the name would mean something to his lover this time.

Bucky blinked, looking around and locking eyes with Steve. "W..."

"Yeah? Bucky, baby, what is it?" Sam stepped back as Steve looked desperately at Bucky, hoping some sign of recognition would grace the man's features.

The Soldier kept blinking, looking at Steve with furrowed brows. "Warm."


	9. Epilogue

In many ways, James was like the sun to Steve.

They kept each other warm in lonely nights, held each other when nightmares and flashbacks made sleep impossible. When the dawn broke, they stayed curled up in their embrace, simply enjoying the heat they had gone without for far too long.

Steve only really felt like himself when Bucky was around. He was illuminated by the man's radiance, dazzled by the brightness that shone through his rare smiles and gently kisses. It took a while, to get to that point. Bucky did nothing but burn for a very long time. But the sun can do much more than harm.

Silence overtook much of their interactions, pain had created a new dynamic between them. Steve never truly understood what was going on in his lover's mind, but he wasn't too alarmed by this. When Bucky's eyes were filled with memories, Steve would hold him. When his eyes were filled with lust, Steve would worship his body. When his eyes were filled with love, Steve would smile softly and return the affection. This was enough.

Bucky felt like a moon, a shadow of the man he used to be. To him, Steve was the epitome of everything good and everything he didn't deserve. He came to understand that Steve felt the same about him.

Their love was not perfect. It was broken, battered, bruised. It had seen the darkest sides of humanity, but it had come out shining. And though it took months to see the light of day, to be shared with the people Steve called his friends, it eventually became more than a secret they shared in the dark. It became something that everyone understood, and appreciated.

Steve would sometimes mourn the man his lover used to be. Then again, he mourned his past self regularly. Change is not death, change is not something you lament. Steve was not the same after everything he went through, and neither was Bucky. They were different, but one thing never changed.

They loved each other. Through it all, they did. It still astounded Steve, just how much he could care for a single person, but he embraced his affection and gave it all to Bucky. Bucky, who did the same.

Bucky never forgave himself for HYDRA's actions. He couldn't look at himself in the mirror without seeing a puppet blindly following orders. But he knew that he had Steve, he knew that he had at least one person who completely believed in his ability to change. This was something that still shocked him, but he did his best to accept it.

Warmth. Heat. It's something taken for granted too often, something only missed when you're stuck in a tundra. The reunited soldiers worshipped it, refused to leave each other's side for fear of losing the gift their proximity gave. It irritated their friends at times, but everyone understood. Rather, they understood that they could never understand.

Steve tried to explain, he did. He tried to tell them just how much it hurt to be separated from Bucky, how incredible the relief of being near him again was. No one could really get it, and that was fine. Bucky got it. Bucky was there, and Steve didn't care if the pain he had known was never understood by his friends. Bucky understood.

Years passed after that day they met again in a bank vault, years of late nights and tears and painful recovery. Steve never made any advances, never did anything that would make Bucky uncomfortable. He waited until Bucky remembered their love to even touch him for anything more than a platonic hug.

Bucky didn't remember for a long time. The day he finally did...it was like magic. Steve was overcome by shock and emotion as he felt plump lips touch his hesitantly, saw Bucky's anxious face draw back in insecurity.

But that insecurity faded away immediately as Steve returned his love, kissed him with the fire that burned inside of him. They shone brightly that day, accepting the thing that gave them warmth and running with it. Everyone refused to be near them for a month as they rekindled the romance that had gone cold for far too long.

Steve had never been happier in his life. Not even in those days so long ago, when the biggest problem they faced was their mothers' wrath after they snuck out on New Years. No happiness can seem real without a healthy dose of heartache. That shimmer of light in the darkest hour can be more impactful than a blazing sun.

In many ways, James was like the sun to Steve. This sun was old, dimmed. But it was one that gave life, gave love, gave everything it possibly could despite everything it had seen. They were not perfect by the standards of a society that idealized frauds, but they were perfect to another. They were warm once again, and this was enough.


End file.
